


seeds in the garden

by jehancourf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Quite A Bit Else, Fix-It, Flower Symbolism, Gratuitous French, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sirius Black Gets Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehancourf/pseuds/jehancourf
Summary: "Harry,We’ll be coming to get you in a few weeks. Just securing a place for us now. Custody should be completely settled by then. Keep an eye out for a Ministry owl if you haven’t already gotten one. I reckon they’d like your opinion on the whole thing. You have my permission to cuss at them if you’d like.Sirius and RemusPS: How’s your French?"Or simply, Sirius Black puts together a family.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 29
Kudos: 178





	seeds in the garden

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings for homophobia (dursley calls sirius a fag but its fine dont worry about it) and ptsd type stuff and french "people"

It goes like this:

Snape wakes up as Remus (Remus, oh, Remus, Moony, his beloved, after all these years here and _alive_ ) explains the story to Harry and Ron and Hermione. He watches with hot breath and wide eyes from the rubble of the triple-disarm as a too-old pet rat transforms into a man-shell monster. He sees Wormtail’s flesh, stretched thin from twelve years gone tremble and shake, sees his hands wringing and his beady rat eyes dart to the door. He sees the traitor approach the children, loyal Ron, clever Hermione, and brave Harry, and learns the truth along with them. Sirius knows because he sees it on Snape’s face, out of the corner of his eye.

He cannot bring himself to care.

“Together?” Sirius asks, searching Remus’ (still beautiful, more scarred now and a bit thinner but, oh it’s Moony, here, with the same bright, perfect, orange eyes) face and knowing all too well how quiet (how desperate) his voice sounds.

“I think so.” Remus says. He raises his wand and flashes him a snaggle-tooth smile, looking positively evil. Sirius, romantic that he is, thinks briefly of pausing this moment, just for a few hours. Not too long, just enough time to build an altar to that smile.

“Wait!” Comes Snape’s voice from behind them.

“Snape?” says Harry, clearly as dumbfounded as Sirius is. 

“For fuck’s sake, Severus, can’t you mind your damn business?” Remus snarls, and Sirius watches as the children’s jaws all drop. Moony cursing! There was a time when Sirius would have been shocked, too.

“No, listen to me, Lupin.” Snape says, spitting the name as though it disgusts him. “If you kill him, that’s it. Black will be back on the run before morning, and you, as I was trying to say, before I was so violently interrupted--” He tosses a glare at Harry and his friends. “have not taken your potion this evening. Are you sure the last thing you want to see of your dog is his tail?”

“He’s right.” Harry says quietly, thankfully ignoring Snape’s attempt at poetics. “We should bring Pettigrew in instead. Clear your name.”

“Harry--” Sirius starts.

“I don’t think my dad would want his two best mates to be killers.”

And that settles it. Sirius looks at Remus (darling Remus, beautiful Remus) but Remus is looking out the window. The sun is setting, and in a matter of moments, the full moon will be peeking out from behind the trees.

Sirius knew, of course, that the moon would be full tonight. How could he not, with the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. In Azkaban, he watched the moon wax and wane on his arm, counting the months that Moony spent alone. Remus had protested when he got it, 18 and stupid and in love, but in there, it was one of very few things the dementors couldn’t take. In there, it was the only thing that was real.

Sirius knew, and he had hoped the moon would keep Remus from interfering with his plans. Or he had hoped Remus would find them there, in the shack. Or he had hoped the Wolf would tear Peter to pieces. He isn’t sure which, but he hoped.

“You lot should go.” He says, tearing his eyes away from Remus’ sunset-lit cheek. “It’s about to get pretty wild in here. Turn Peter in and come fetch me and Moony in the morning.”

Remus sucks in a breath.

“You don’t have to--”

“Course I do.” Sirius says, without hesitation. “I said I would forever, didn’t I?”

Remus looks exceptionally sad for a flicker of a second, but then he smiles, and Sirius feels dizzy. “You’ve got a lot of forevers to make up for, Padfoot, old girl.”

It’s far too poetic to make sense, and Sirius knows the look on his face is too vulnerable at best and disgusting at worst, but for the first time in 12 years, he feels so, so warm.

“Got to start somewhere.” He hears himself say.

And they do. Snape ushers the children and the traitor out of the shack with little more than a passing “consider us even.” Sirius watches them go, clapping Harry reassuringly on the shoulder. It’s going to be alright, he says with his eyes. Remus tears apart a few minutes later, screaming and crying in an agony that is achingly familiar, and changing into Padfoot is less second nature than it is coming home.

The Wolf stares at him, unblinking. Padfoot stares back. The Wolf approaches. Padfoot stands his ground. The Wolf whines, then jumps at him, and Sirius readies his defenses, but the great bloody beast knocks it’s huge head right into Padfoot’s, licks his face all over, tries to sit on him. Sirius is overjoyed, and returns the long-forgotten affection. When the Wolf finally pulls away, and Sirius gets a good look at him, he sees in its eyes a familiar spark.

Its eyes say pack. _Mate._

***

Snape keeps to his word and brings Peter to Dumbledore instead. The three brave children testify against him, and the traitor is sent to Azkaban to await trial, something Sirius was never afforded. By morning, the dementors are gone from Hogwarts, and Sirius wakes up to the sun streaming in through the shack window and the sound of Moony’s heartbeat against his cheek.

What happens next is sort of a blur. The following few weeks are full of paperwork, hearings, and sleeping under Remus’s desk as Padfoot. Somewhere in between, Dumbledore offers him a place to stay ("Surely there’s room for you in the castle, perhaps even a role on the staff, really, Sirius, it’s the least I can do"). But Sirius won’t have any of it. He’s far too busy clearing his name to figure out what he thinks of Dumbledore and his charity, let alone consider getting a job, and he doesn’t want to be too far from Remus (quiet, smiling, Professor Lupin, Remus) besides. Not anymore.

In the end, no one finds out that Remus is a werewolf, Peter is sentenced to 95 to life, and Sirius walks Harry to the Hogwarts Express as a free man, having been awarded several thousand galleons for his trouble.

“I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys.” Harry says pointedly, ignoring the looks and the whispers of the other children. Sirius knows they all heard that he’s innocent, but he also knows that he looks like a dead man walking. A few weeks of showers and a regular sleep schedule have brought some color to his face for sure, but it’s going to take more than that to make him anything more than a skeleton with skin.

“I know, mate.” Sirius sighs, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t either. Vernon Dursley never should have been allowed out into the world, let alone near a human woman. Your poor aunt is just as bad, though. My best guess is Vernon exposure, or maybe too much telly vision but hey, what do I know?” 

Harry laughs, shocked to hear an adult be so crass, and Sirius’ proverbial tail wags.

“Anyway,” he continues. “Me and Moony are gonna get you out of there. Before your birthday. You’re gonna come and live with us.”

“Really? You mean it?” Harry’s eyes are as big as saucers.

“Fuck yeah, I mean it. I am your legal guardian after all.”

“Language, Padfoot.” Comes a familiar voice, smooth as caramel. Sirius looks over his shoulder to see Remus (beautiful, smiling Remus) coming up behind them. “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

Sirius searches his face, wounded, but finds nothing but a spark in his eye. Remus, perfect, lovely Remus is joking. Sirius grins.

“Yeah, well. Guess you’re stuck with me now.” He says stupidly.

“Yes.” Remus says dramatically, clapping Sirius on the back. (His hand is on Sirius’ back.) “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to either of us.”

Harry laughs at them both. “I hope it works out that you can take me. The jokes at the Dursley’s aren’t nearly so entertaining.”

Sirius barks a laugh. “James would have said the same thing!” He says without thinking. Harry smiles shyly. 

“Thanks.”

“Harry, let’s go!” Hermione yells from the train, which has been whistling impatiently for a number of minutes now.

“We’ll write.” Remus says. 

“Constantly. I’m your burden now, too, kid.” Sirius adds.

“Good.” Harry replies, and pulls them both into a dazed hug before they have the chance to protest. He runs off onto the train and the two old men stare after him, bewildered that a child who has been through so much trauma could still hold so much innocence. The train chugs off into the distance, and Remus gently takes Sirius’ hand in his own as they watch it go.

“Well.” Remus starts.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius says nervously. “I didn’t mean to volunteer you--”

“It’s okay.” Remus interrupts, just as nervously. “It was implied that we’d be--”

“No--”

“Yes--”

“Was it?” Sirius asks quietly.

“What?”

“Was it… implied? That we’d be moving in?”

“If you don’t want to--”

“Of course I want to. I just didn’t think you would--”

Remus takes his other hand too, and holds them up to his face. He looks Sirius dead in the eye, and Sirius finds himself wondering, as he did so many times when they were children, if werewolves had some sort of thrall. There’s always been a magnetic pull to Remus, from the very first day on the train. Sirius has always just been following him.

“Padfoot, I’ve spent the last thirteen years without you. I don’t intend to spend any more.”

Sirius feels his heart float above the train and look down, light as a cloud. He knew, all these years, that he never stopped loving Moony, but he never dreamed, never dared to dream that Moony would feel the same.

“Yeah, ok.” He says, feeling blissed out and cut open. “So we’re doing this then?”

Remus, bless him, winces. “I’m not. I’m not sure.” He admits, and Sirius feels the light and fluffy feeling from a moment ago sink to something heavier. It must be obvious on his face, because Remus continues: “I’m sorry, Padfoot. It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. Very, very much. I just don’t think it would be wise to pick up right where we left off with so much between us.”

“Oh.” Sirius manages.

“I’m not ever going to leave you alone again.” Remus insists, and God, Remus knows him so well, even now, to know that was exactly what Sirius was thinking. “It’s not a no. It’s just a not yet. We can try again when we’re ready, but for now, let’s focus on being people, right?”

“Okay.” Sirius says, but it sounds wrong even to him.

“For Harry?” Remus tries, and Sirius sees what he means, he really does. Harry deserves two stable adults, not one (beautiful, wonderful) grown man and one still-devoted teenager clinging on for dear life. He supposes it would be pretty unhealthy for the two of them to go right back to loving like 13 years of their lives never happened. Like they aren’t completely different people now.

And really, who the fuck is Sirius to ask for anything anyway? It’s not like he ever expected to see Remus (darling Remus) again for the rest of his life, let alone be allowed to love him. He hardly deserves a second chance for what he did. Even if he wasn’t the traitor, he’s as good as one, for switching with Peter. Moony should hate him. 

“Sirius?” Remus says, miles away.

“Okay.” Sirius says again, trying to shake himself out of the spiral. The world is moving around them. He imagines the remaining people at the station are staring. After a moment of heavy breathing, he notices his hold on Remus’s hands is like a vice. Reluctantly, he lets them go. “Sorry.”

“S’Okay.” Remus says back, and they walk back to the castle in silence.

***

The subject of moving in doesn’t come up again for another week. Sirius has been too busy learning about custody laws and regulations, flipping through endless paperwork, and figuring out how the hell he’s supposed to convince the Ministry (and Dumbledore) that he’s capable enough of being a father figure to consider living arrangements. More often than not he’s had to convince himself, after floating around the Hogwarts halls like a ghost, or catching himself scratching at tables and chairs in Remus’s office. He will sometimes black out for hours and wake up in the middle of conversations with McGonagall or Hagrid or Remus himself. He will sometimes see himself in the mirror and scream.

Maybe he’s not fit to be a guardian yet, or move house, but he’s had it good sleeping on the rug by the fire in Remus’s office as Padfoot, anyway. Why fix what ain’t broke?

(There’s been another moon, too, and he and Remus sneak away to the shack and huddle together in the remains of the bed like old times. The Wolf doesn’t have the same reservations as Remus has, and is right back to loving him like nothing’s wrong. In the light of the unfriendly moon, Sirius pretends that Remus and the Wolf are the same person, and that he gets to love both of him. Even though he knows they aren’t. Even though he knows he can’t.)

Remus clearly feels differently about moving, because when Sirius gets out of the shower on Sunday morning, Remus is offering him a breakfast of eggs and bacon and tea. The kind of breakfast you have to sit down for. The kind of breakfast they used to have together, once. 

“The trouble is,” Remus explains, when they finally get down to it, “I live here at Hogwarts. I don’t even have a flat to go back to.”

“I could live here.” Moony shakes his head.

“No you couldn’t.” He argues. “You’d hate not having your own space, and being surrounded by kids come fall. Besides, I’m not sure you’re allowed to live here anyway, unless you’re looking for work?”

“Special circumstances.” Sirius mutters, but he knows Remus is right. He would hate living at Hogwarts. Under the watchful eye of Dumbledore, it would feel like nothing more than a fancy prison. Cursing Foucault, Sirius bites his lip. “You’re right, as usual. I don’t think I’d want to be anywhere near here, for a while at least.”

“That rules out Hogsmeade.” Remus says, not unkindly.

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay, Sirius.”

“It’s just--” Sirius sighs. “Dumbledore. I don’t want him to know what I’m up to. Harry neither, once we’ve got him.”

“You don’t trust him.” Remus says.

“No.” Sirius says firmly. “After thirteen years, I don’t trust him. And neither should you. He’s done a lot of great things, that man. A lot of things people would happily follow him to hell for.” Sirius shakes his head. “I’ve done my time in hell, thanks.”

Remus is silent for a moment, sipping his tea, and when Sirius catches his eye, he finds Remus’s face screwed up in that way it used to get when he was figuring out his homework. He looks silly when he’s lost in thought, like a muggle cartoon character, really poring it over. Like everything else, the look is different now too, more pronounced by the lines on his forehead and all those new scars. Sirius thinks he may just be the most attractive person he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t really consider…” Remus starts.

“I know, Moony.” Sirius says, and bravely moves his hand across the table to rest against Remus’s. “It’s not your fault. I just think he’s more manipulative than he lets on.”

“That… actually lines up, Padfoot.” Remus says, like he’s shocked. Sirius doesn’t blame him. The division of good and evil has blurred in his mind, but Remus still has a desire to follow goodness, no matter the cost. Sirius finds himself jealous of it. He takes a reluctant bite of his eggs.

“Hey, you never know! Maybe I’m paranoid. But I’d rather be paranoid than Dumbledore’s servant.” 

“Quite right.”

Remus turns his hand over. Their fingers brush. Remus’s fingers close over Sirius’s, and for the second time in two weeks, they’re holding hands. Sirius tries to hold it together.

“Where do you want to go?” He asks, voice cracking in the middle, just a touch.

“Me?” Remus replies. Sirius can feel those bright orange eyes on him, and he looks away from their hands to meet them.

“Yeah. I certainly don’t know where to go.”

“I… I honestly have no preference.” Remus says honestly. “I can apparate to Hogwarts if I need to.” 

“London then?” Sirius tries, without feeling. “My mum’s old place?”

“Fuck no.” Remus says. “Are you mental?”

“I’m due to inherit it soon. And it’s protected, for Harry. It’d be convenient.”

“I don’t think reliving your childhood trauma every morning would be convenient.” Remus squeezes his hand. “No matter how protected.”

Sirius hadn’t even considered that. He was only thinking about what would be best for Harry and Remus. Lots of space to be a creature, lots of protection lest anyone come looking for them, close to Diagon Alley. He didn’t even think of the dusty, empty rooms or the screams of his mother.

“Oh.” Sirius manages. “That.”

“Wherever we settle,” Remus says carefully. “I think you ought to see a shrink.”

“A shrink?” 

“Yes.” Remus says, and Sirius grimaces. “Oh don’t look at me like that. I saw one for a while. My mum used to see one, and your cousin Dora does too. I bet Harry could use one.”

“What for?” 

“You mean aside from everything you’ve been through?” Remus shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s just nice to have someone to talk to. Besides me, of course.”

“Oh.” Sirius hadn’t thought of it that way. “That makes sense.”

“Think about it.” Remus says, and then drops it dutifully. “Anyway, I don’t want to be anywhere near anything that’s going to cause you or Harry stress. Far away from Hogwarts, and London, and the rotten Dursleys.”

Sirius thinks it over. He has trouble coming up with places he knows that haven’t been infected, some way or another, with memory. He doesn’t know too many places in general, really, having spent the last 15 years in prison, in battle, or on the run. Even as a child, he spent most of his time trapped at home or goofing off at James’ place. His parents didn’t take him on holiday, except to visit family and all those ancestral Black homes.

Ancestral Black homes.

“Would we have to stay in England?”

Remus laughs. “Are you thinking of moving Harry and I to New Zealand?”

“France.”

“France?” Remus repeats, flabbergasted. “Merlin, why?”

“My family’s from there, way way back. Probably still some wizardfolk in Provence that remember the—'' Sirius raises his voice to a shrill falsetto in mimic of his mother. “Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. I’m still fluent in French, I think. Hard to tell after the dementors. Ask me something in French.”

“You’re mental!” Remus laughs. “Vous… vous êtes fou?”

Remus’s accent is awful, and it makes Sirius laugh with him.

“Mon cher....” He droles, the language coming back to him like a forgotten code written in the oldest depths of his blood. “Ton français est très terrible. Et n'utilise pas «vous» avec moi. Je t'ai vu nue.”

Remus is grinning. “I have no idea what you’ve just said.”

“All the better.”

They’re smiling at eachother, and laughing, and Sirius feels like he hadn’t spent over a decade in prison, and it was all a bad dream. He gnaws on a piece of bacon and Remus chuckles into his tea.

“I could learn.”

Sirius’s heart flip-flops.

“You mean--”

“I’m sure you’d be a fine teacher.” Remus insists. “And besides, I’m hardly uprooting anything. Hogwarts is all I’ve got.”

The ‘besides you’ is silent.

“What about Harry?” Sirius asks, because it's not just about them anymore. Harry should be near his friends, or at the very least in the same damn country.

“He can learn, too.” Remus says, determinedly. “They've got spells for that, I’m sure. And I don’t think navigating the International Floo will be too much of a pain. Worst case scenario, we can always set up a link to Grimmauld Place.”

“Oh.” Sirius says. “Oh!” He stands up out of his seat, still gripping Remus’s hand. “We’ll keep Grimmauld Place, in case anyone asks, or we need citizenship or something--”

Remus jumps up too. “Or in case the Ministry needs proof of residence! For Harry-”

“Yes! Exactly, exactly!”

“There’s no way they won’t give you Harry if they think he’s safe at Grimmauld place!”

“Meanwhile, we’ll be perfectly safe, drinking wine and eating bread in the South of France!” Sirius barks a laugh, ecstatic. “Moony, you’re a fucking genius!”

Remus blushes. “It’s as much your idea as it is mine, Padfoot.” 

Sirius grins at him. God, he’s beautiful. “There’s endless fields of lavender in Provence, you know. A right lovely place for us to run. Mountains and forests and shit, too.”

“Oh, is that right?” Remus smiles at him, and Sirius is suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. He can see the light dusting of freckles across Moony’s nose, and remembers kissing them like it was yesterday. He feels the thrall again, nearly gets on his tiptoes to do it, but makes himself pull away.

“Lots of space.” Sirius says instead, and that’s that.

***

They send Harry a Hogwarts owl the first week of July, much earlier than their goal of his birthday, which isn’t until the end of the month. Sirius vaguely considers getting Harry’s birthday tattooed on his other wrist, so he’ll be sure to remember. He thinks Remus would disapprove, which only makes him want it more.

_Harry,_

_We’ll be coming to get you in a few weeks. Just securing a place for us now. Custody should be completely settled by then. Keep an eye out for a Ministry owl if you haven’t already gotten one. I reckon they’d like your opinion on the whole thing. You have my permission to cuss at them if you’d like._

_Sirius and Remus_

_PS: How’s your French?_

Sirius writes the letter himself, but shows it to Remus before he sends it. Remus shakes his head, looking very fond indeed.

“You don’t have to be so cryptic, you know.” He says, ever the voice of reason. “You can just tell him he’s moving to France.”

“Where's your sense of drama, Moony, old maid?” Sirius retorts, and sends the letter as is. Harry hasn’t had nearly enough whimsy in his life, and whimsy, Sirius reasons, is something he can provide. Something he could use some more of himself. Besides, he doesn’t want Dumbledore getting too suspicious. He could (and likely will) intercept any letter Sirius sends. Sirius is surprised the old man hasn’t intervened yet, but to be fair, Remus has already told him they’re moving into Grimmauld Place. If there’s anywhere in the world with stronger blood wards, Sirius will eat his shoe.

They go house hunting together, the two of them, popping in and out of the French countryside with the telltale crack of an apparate to look at old run-down cottages and secluded farm land. International travel isn’t so bad when you can apparate, and since Sirius knows Provence well enough from his boyhood they make it there fairly easily. It’s early July, so the lavender is in full bloom and ready to be harvested. It’s lovely, coloring the land a mysterious purple as far as the eye can see, stopping only at the far-off mountain border of the Provence Alps. 

Remus takes to the area immediately, breathing in the calming lavender and muttering to himself about tilling his own land and raising chickens. Sirius finds it all overwhelmingly domestic, and holds his tongue.

After about a week of non-stop searching, they settle on a house outside Valensole, in Upper Provence. There’s hardly 3000 people in the town: a medieval village on the side of a hill, bordered completely by farmland, and the surrounding area is protected as a Regional Nature Park. The house itself is nestled between forest and field, lopsided on it’s own little hill in the countryside. It’s an ancient stone 3-bedroom that hasn’t held a person in what looks to be decades. It’s the picture of French retirement, with a slanted roof covered in moss and a long-forgotten garden full of overgrown rose bushes, lavender, and, to Sirius’s delight, lupines.

The lupines match the tattoo on the inside of his thigh, the second one he got for Moony when he was 20 and stupid. Remus pretended to hate this one too, but he used to kiss it possessively whenever he found himself near it. Sirius, for his part, applauded his own genius. See, Moony, lupines? I did this for you. 

Sirius says nothing, but he watches Remus’s face screw up when he sees them. 

There’s dust everywhere, absolutely no furniture that will hold a human being, and an old, old car in the garage, and they make an offer without a second thought.

***

Sirius makes good on his promise and shows up to Number 4 Privet Drive in mid-July. He and Remus had gone shopping at some point, with Sirius’s inheritance and reparations. He’s a fairly rich man, now, or at least, rich enough to buy a cottage in Provence and a cool leather jacket, not unlike the one he wore during the war. When he'd tried it on, Moony looked like he had something caught in his throat, and Sirius found himself incredibly happy with that. He had Remus cut his hair, not too short, just to the shoulders. His face is neatly shaven. He’s got all his old piercings back, too, the ones in his ears and his nostril, and even found some rings he liked at a second-hand shop. He hasn’t charmed them yet, hasn’t had the time, but he does feel like he looks cooler, at least, than he had in prison.

Or, in layman’s terms, he’s the sexiest person on the sidewalk on Privet Drive.

He bangs on the door unceremoniously, catching the eye of a little old lady walking a Bichon Frise. He winks at her, and she turns so red she’s almost purple.

It’s true that Sirius has filled out these past two months. Even if he still has bags under his eyes and hardly any muscle left, the French summer sun has given him some of his color back (he reveled in the way his dark hands contrasted Moony’s) that’s for sure, and he’s decorated with the aforementioned glam. But God, it feels fantastic to be admired by others again. Even little old ladies. 

Vernon Dursley yanks open the door after about 8 loud knocks, as purple as the bichon frise lady, but for other reasons, Sirius hopes. Harry stands behind him, clutching his bags already, and in the kitchen stands Petunia Evans Dursley and their dreadful spawn.

“Hullo, Dursley. Pleasure to see you again.” Sirius drawls, making a great show of examining his rings. He catches Harry grin, and looks past him at Petunia with a finger-wave. “Tuney. You’re looking old.”

“You’d think after all that time in prison you’d have stopped being such a fag.” Dursley spits, and it’s been so long since Sirius has been called that that it sounds like a compliment. He laughs.

“Come now, Dursley.” Sirius says, keeping his voice light and airy. He pushes past the great oaf to help Harry with his suitcases, of which there are only three. Hedwig is nowhere in sight. “This is no time for a proposition. Think of the children.”

This seems to only anger the man further, but before he can say anything, Petunia pipes up, the old hag.

“Just you, then is it?” She asks shrilly. “No freakish, gangling babysitter?”

“Yes.” Says Dursley, grinning an awful, maligned grin. “Did he go the same way as they did, or did he just get tired of your flaming?”

Sirius sighs, glances over at Harry, and punches Vernon Dursley in the nose.

***

“That was brilliant.” Harry says, once they’ve apparated out of the house and into London. Harry’s not technically supposed to apparate yet, but Sirius figures, given the circumstances, it’s not so bad. What are they gonna do, throw him back in Azkaban?

“Felt brilliant.” Sirius agrees, and looks around. Seeing that he didn’t muck up the job, and that they’re only a few blocks from Grimmauld Place fills him with a delightful mix of relief and dread. Remus has been cleaning up the place for polite company, but Sirius hasn’t even been inside yet. He can’t imagine what horrors lie within. “Don’t tell Moony, though, eh? He’ll skin me alive.”

Harry laughs. “Where are we headed, anyway? You didn’t say in your owl, and Hedwig hasn’t been back yet.”

“Oh.” Sirius says with a pang of guilt. Poor Hedwig was flying more than she’s ever done, probably. “My mother’s house, just down the road. It’s where we’re telling Dumbledore we’re living.”

“But we’re not living there.”

“Fuck no.” Sirius says, as Remus had, to the same suggestion. “My folks were… well they were right bloody purebloods, the lot of them. Slytherin all the way down. The kind of people who. Well. You know.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, solemn beyond his 13 years. “I know.”

“I haven’t lived in that house since I was 16, and I sure as hell won’t now. Let alone make the two of you.” Sirius says, as they come up on the all-too-familiar street. “But we’re telling everyone we are living there, so we don’t catch any trouble.”

“What trouble?” Harry asks genuinely.

“Harry,” Sirius says, stopping to clap him on the shoulder with his free hand. “Your aunt and uncle’s house, hell that it is, was covered in spells designed to keep you protected. Regular spells, from Dumbledore, I expect, but old magic, blood magic, too. Lily wanted to keep you safe, so if you stayed in a house with her blood inside it, you would be. Dumbledore, and anyone else looking out for you, isn’t going to want you to be without those protections.” 

Sirius exhales. “Lucky for us, Grimmauld Place, my mum’s house, here, has similar magic, only much, much older. You’ll be able to feel it, actually, in a few moments. We’re nearly there.”

“But if we aren’t staying at Grim Old place,” Sirius stifles a laugh. “Where are we staying?”

Before Sirius can muster up an explanation, he feels the assault of his ancestor’s magic wash over him like an ocean wave. 11 Grimmauld Place comes up on their left, and then 13, and Sirius puts on a brave face, like he can’t already see his mother gripping a belt in his mind’s eye.

“Feel that, Harry?” Sirius asks, sick to his stomach.

“Yeah, but where--”

As if on cue, Number 12 Grimmauld Place oozes into view, its ostentatious old gargoyles and elaborate filigree dulled only by the warm sparkle of light inside. Sirius tightens his grip on Harry’s suitcases, almost ready to hear the ringing voice of Walburga Black, but instead is greeted by the sight of Remus sitting pretty on the porch, waiting for them.

“Moony!” Sirius exclaims. 

“Hullo, Harry, Sirius.” Remus says, looking smug. 

“Hi, Professor.” says Harry.

“When you didn’t Floo in, I assumed you apparated.” Remus says, sternly. He stands up and dusts himself off, approaching the two delinquents in front of him to chide them. “Something you aren’t supposed to be doing with a child you’ve only just gained custody of.” Moony pauses, looking Sirius up and down. His voice lowers. “You look rather dashing. Give Vernon Dursley a run for his money, did you?”

Sirius gulps. He feels like a prey animal, his head spinning with the delight of Remus’s attention. The looks he was given on Privet Drive, or anywhere else for that matter, could never compare to this. Having Remus (perfect, strong, commanding Remus) lecture him is… well. It’s energizing, to say the least.

“I-”

“You should have seen it, Professor!” Sirius snaps his head down to look at Harry, who doesn’t seem to notice that there’s some Very Important Flirting going on in front of him. “He popped Uncle Vernon right in the nose!”

“Did he now?” Remus says, and to Sirius’s relief, he looks rather amused. 

“I had to, you see.” Sirius says, face burning. “He said…” You were tired of me, Sirius thinks, but of course he can’t say that. “Some things.”

“He called Sirius a fag.” Harry says defiantly, which is true, but not at all why Sirius punched him.

“Harry, I thought we agreed not to tell Moony any of this.”

“Sorry.” Harry mumbles. “I just didn’t want him to think you attacked him or something. You wouldn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

Harry sounds so sure of himself that it makes Sirius choke up a little. He hears Remus let out a little breath.

“Don’t worry, Harry.” Remus says, in what Sirius can only assume is his teacher voice. “I know that. I trust Sirius.” Sirius looks up at him, teary-eyed. “And Vernon Dursley has always been an awful bully. It’ll serve him right to have a broken nose.”

Sirius hears Harry laugh, and takes the opportunity to wipe his face on the collar of his jacket. Damn them both for making him cry before they’ve even entered the building. The building. His stomach lurches.

“Moony,” Sirius says. “How’s the house?”

“Dreadful.” Remus replies. “But we aren’t going in.”

“We aren’t?” Sirius and Harry ask at the same time.

“Not today, anyway. When I figured you weren’t flooing, I brought a link to The Garden out to the porch.” Remus has been calling it The Garden since they started moving things in. His talk of tilling the land hasn’t faltered, and Sirius is beginning to think he’ll actually do it. “Right here, see.”

Harry and Sirius lean over to look, and sure enough, on the front doorstep of Number 12 Grimmauld Place there is a doormat that says “Wipe Your Paws.”

“This way, you don’t have to go in.” says Remus, perfect, thoughtful, loving Remus. Sirius can’t help but sob at that, dropping his head onto Remus’s arm. He feels warm. He feels cut open and tender. He feels the exact opposite of how he felt only a few months ago. Moony, bless him, places a hand on Sirius’s shoulder but doesn’t say another word.

Harry, on the other hand, has the tact of his father. “Oh!” Sirius hears him exclaim. 

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of Sirius.” Remus explains patiently, rubbing Sirius’s shoulder with his thumb. Sirius chuckles wetly against the fabric of his sweater. “We’re going to be sure to let him know how much he means to us, alright Harry?”

“Don’t be soft with me, Moony.” Sirius grumbles, pulling back and wiping his eyes. “I’m not a charity case.”

“Of course not.” Remus says. “But you aren’t some unfeeling brute either.” He turns to Harry. “Did your uncle ever cry in front of you, Harry?”

“No, sir.” Harry says, and when Sirius looks at him, he appears to be a little scandalized, watching Sirius with his mother’s eyes. “Uncle Vernon says that crying is for girls.”

“Jackass.” Sirius mumbles.

“Women aren’t the only people who have feelings, though, are they Harry? Certainly everyone regardless of gender has things to cry about.”

“Well, yeah.” Harry says thoughtfully. “I guess the rules for that sort of stuff are pretty stupid.”

“Hear Hear.” Remus says, clearly pleased with his lesson for the day. He smiles brightly at the both of them and claps his hands together. “Now then. Harry, have you ever used a Portkey?”

***

They land at The Garden with relative ease, after Remus explains Portkeys to Harry, and then explains that the links he’s set up are like Portkeys, except only for the three of them. If Sirius and Remus have done the magic correctly, the doormat (and the lightswitch in the entryway, and the magnet on the icebox, and an old copy of “Les Miserables”) should only respond to their touch. It was a bit of tricky magic that Sirius is particularly proud of, even though Remus did most of the work. It feels good to be useful again.

Sirius watches as Harry takes it all in, and is incredibly charmed by the wide grin on his face. Harry’s eyes track the stone walls and mossy roof with a rather Prongs-like excitement, and Sirius can’t help but feel excited himself. The Garden is really quite agreeable, after all, still old and run-down looking, but with new magic around it, grass freshly trimmed and a fetching stone path leading up to the big old wooden door. The path leads off in another direction, too, past the trees to the sprawling fields of lavender just outside their property. Sirius has installed a sign in the driveway that says “Lupin et Black et Potter,” which is swinging just a little in the summer breeze. The sun will be down in a few hours, and the shadows are long.

“Brilliant.” Harry says, finally, then turns to Sirius. “Where are we?”

“Oh, right.” Sirius says, and Remus laughs. “This is The Garden, Harry. It’s the house Remus and I have been fixing up for us. It’s not much, but it’s safe and warm and uh... In France.”

“We’re in France?” Harry questions, but doesn’t sound particularly shocked. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that, Moony reckons I should have said but I thought it might be fun to be mysterious.” Sirius smiles shyly. “You can visit your friends whenever you want with the links back to London, and really, in the grand scheme of things, France isn’t that far from home.”

“I don’t mind.” Harry says, honestly. “Anywhere is better than the Dursley’s. But… are there spells on this house too?” Remus nods.

“A few.” He says. “Nothing as deep as the blood wards on your aunt and uncle’s house, and none as overpowering as the ones at Grimmauld Place, but you should be safe here.”

“Besides, we’re going to make friends with the locals. Dark magic isn’t half as scary as French muggles. Want to go inside, Harry?”

The inside of The Garden, now full of furniture and considerably less dusty, is as charming as the outside. The old wooden door opens into the living room, which has a large, L-shaped couch taking up much of the space, a towering pile of cozy blankets and pillows covering one side of it. Moony’s reading chair, which he’s brought from Hogwarts, is in the corner of the room, next to a massive stone fireplace, and the walls beside it are absolutely covered in books. There’s books on the floor too, arranged in dozens of little piles, a vast library, and Sirius can only imagine that Remus’s room is filled with even more.

(They each have their own bedrooms. Sirius has tried not to think about it too much. He’s been sleeping on the couch as Padfoot anyway, like if he sleeps in his own room it’ll make it real. He and the love of his life are living together in Provence, and they’re only roommates.)

Harry looks around the room, and past it, to the kitchen. The kitchen is small and very yellow, with a table for breakfasts and windows looking out past the trees and onto the vast fields of lavender that stretch into the distance. They hadn’t finished cleaning it proper, and Sirius can see Harry’s eyes flick to the sponges cleaning the walls by themselves. They’ll be doing that in the bathrooms, too, Sirius knows, but it was better to have Harry here as early as possible. 

“Brilliant.” Harry says, for the third time today.

“Your room is the last one up the stairs, Harry, after mine and Sirius’s. Why don’t you take your things up there and settle in, and we’ll start dinner?” Harry nods excitedly and rushes up the stairs.

Sirius looks up at Remus, who is watching Harry go with a sparkle in his eye. He rests his head against Remus’s arm, and Remus stiffens, but let’s him. From upstairs, they hear Harry exclaim “Hedwig!” All is well.

***

It’s late into the night by the time they all go to bed, after staying up for hours and hours talking. Harry has a million questions about the neighborhood and his parents and even Azkaban, and Sirius is all too willing to answer, enjoying the attention. Harry is exactly like James in this respect, curious and excitable, and Sirius finds himself drawn to him, less like a son and more like a younger brother.

So Sirius surprises himself and follows Remus up to bed. Harry wishes the two of them goodnight, and then they’re standing in the hallway.

“Right.” Remus says, reaching for the door to his room.

“Right.” Sirius says back.

They’ve avoided this conversation thus far, since Remus can’t exactly be stony towards a big black mutt, but Sirius is Sirius now, not Padfoot. 

“I’m headed to bed, then.” Remus says clumsily.

“Right.” Sirius says again. “I’ll just-- me too.”

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

“Night, Moonshine.” Remus flinches at the old pet name, but retreats to his room without another word. Sirius lets out a sigh.

He lays down in his own bed. There are a few soft new blankets, and he pulls them up despite the heat. It’s been ages since he’s slept as a human being, in a human being’s bed. Even in Azkaban, it was easier to sleep as a dog. Dogs’ feelings are less complicated, and therefore less easily preyed upon by dementors. Dogs rarely dream. However, Sirius finds the warmth of his new bed welcoming and comfortable. The window beside him leads right out onto the lavender fields, and in the moonlight, they look like dark purple storm clouds. 

It’ll be a full moon, soon. Sirius thinks as he nods off. And me and Moony can run.

***

Sirius wakes an hour later to shouting.

“Harry?” He croaks.

“Sirius! You’re awake!” Harry pulls him up by his shoulders into a tight hug. Dazed, Sirius looks around.

“What’s going on?” Harry releases him. Behind him, Remus is holding up his wand as a light and looking shaken.

“You were having a nightmare.” Harry says quietly. Sirius looks up at Remus with one part indignation and one part disbelief.

“You didn’t have to wake me for something stupid like that!” He protests. “Of course I’m going to have bloody nightmares, I was in prison for twelve years!” He doesn’t mean it to sound so harsh but he feels exhausted, a full body tired, like he hasn’t slept at all. He doesn’t even remember the stupid dream.

“Don’t be an ass.” Remus says, the look of fear from a moment ago replaced with one of mild annoyance. It stings, after Moony’s been so kind to him, and Sirius wants to wash himself in it. 

“Can’t help it, can I, Remus?” He spits, feeling himself pick a fight on purpose, just like old times. Isn’t it just like Sirius Black to make a scene for no reason? Surely Remus saw this coming. His dramatics-- his flaming, as Dursley so eloquently put it. If Remus really isn’t tired of it, like Dursley said, he should have seen it coming. If Remus doesn’t want to love him anymore for his sake, and not because after all these years he just knows better, then let’s see it. “S’Just my winning personality!”

This is how he’s always been, after all. Azkaban be damned. Sirius refuses to just have a good thing, he has to fight it, tooth and nail, until it proves that it's real. 

“Sirius.” Remus says sternly, but he doesn’t look nearly as angry as Sirius wants him to be. He has the audacity, in fact, to look understanding, full of pity. Sirius feels electric. His breath is quick and hot. He wants Remus to hate him so bad that it hurts. Shout at me, he silently begs, Hex me. Tell me you’re leaving. Give me what I deserve.

“You were screaming, Sirius.” Harry says, and Sirius’s flame burns out. 

Remus is standing there, and Harry is sitting in bed with him. Remus, lovely, perfect Remus, and Harry, the child in his care. Neither of them are looking angry. Neither of them have the capacity to hate him, for nightmares, or anything else. 

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Remus sits down beside him, and then the three of them are sitting on Sirius’s bed together. The moon shines in through the window, and it makes the greys in Remus’s tawny hair sparkle in the light. Sirius begins to cry.

“I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look anywhere else. He lands on Harry. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Of course you didn’t.” Remus says. He wraps his arm around Sirius’s shoulders and pulls him in tight, and Sirius no longer has the energy to be cross with him for it.

Harry is slowly looking less petrified. He chews his lip. “I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not regular ones about school or zombies or something but really bad ones. About my parents. And y’know… Voldemort.”

“As do I,” says Remus, but he doesn’t say what his are about. Sirius has a few ideas. “Comes with the package of going through truly awful things, I’m afraid.”

“Like with the dementors.” Harry says. Sirius sucks in a breath.

“Precisely, Harry. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sirius too was more affected by them than other people.” Sirius shudders, and Remus squeezes him. “Though we’ll never know, because we’ll never, ever see them again.” He adds quickly.

Harry nods. “Yeah. Dumbledore got rid of them. They won’t be at Hogwarts anymore.”

“And they don’t employ them in France. I checked.” Remus says softly, and it clicks in. Remus is saying this for him, so that he knows he’s safe. Sirius sobs.

Remus sends Harry back to bed, leaving the two of them sitting together. Remus holds him tight and steady, and Sirius makes a valiant effort to stop crying. 

“Sorry.” He says against Remus’s nightshirt. “For being an ass.”

“S’Okay.” Remus says, giving him another squeeze. “I said I wouldn’t leave you alone again, and I meant it.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Want me to sleep in here tonight?”

Sirius pulls away to look at him. Surely Remus hadn’t forgotten that only hours ago they were stumbling around each other to sleep alone. 

“You’re thinking too loud.” Remus says, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“That’s my line.” Sirius grumbles.

“Not anymore.” Remus stretches his arms and cracks his neck. “Lay down. I’ll wake you if you start howling again.”

Sirius does, too tired to feel embarrassed about it. He’s a lovesick fool, sure, sharing a cottage with the love of his life, crying on his shirt and raising a teenager together, but for now he’s just a tired man. Remus lays down beside him, the bed shifting under his weight. 

“Starting tomorrow, you’re looking for a therapist.” Remus murmurs, his voice close to Sirius’s ear, but Sirius is already half asleep. 

“Goodnight, moonshine.” Sirius mumbles. Remus is quiet for a moment, but then Sirius feels a gentle hand rest against his side.

“Goodnight, Padfoot.”

***

They take the old car into town the next day, after much trial and error trying to make it move (“Fuck sake, Moony, surely there’s a spell for this!” “We don’t need a spell, Padfoot, watch your language, we just need some petrol!” “Sorry to barge in, but it could be dead, Professor, and you said ‘ass’ last night.” “They can die?!”) and are delighted to find the town in the midst of a great party. There are fairy lights and purple and white streamers tying the streetlights together and hanging from the bannisters of every balcony. Little shop stalls line the largest street, the one with the big fountain in the middle, and the citizens of Valensole are spilled out onto the cobblestone in a massive wave of laughter and excitement.

“Whoa.” says Harry.

“What’s all this, then?” Remus says, turning down a sidestreet to look for parking. 

“The Lavender Festival!” Sirius remembers. He turns around excitedly in his seat to get a better look and is delighted to see that Harry has done the same. “I completely forgot! The muggles here plan it every year, they all get together to celebrate lavender season.”

Harry, who spent most of the car ride into town with his head nearly out the window watching the fields go by, laughs out loud. “I wish Hermione were here. She loves flower smelling stuff.”

“So does your godfather.” Remus quips, finally spotting a parking space and quickly pulling into it. “If either of you have any muggle money, try to save some for lunch, will you?”

“Food’s free, mother. Probably.” Sirius unbuckles his seatbelt. “And I do have muggle money. Had to get some of the French stuff. For the shrink.”

Remus blinks at him, a floored little smile on his face. Sirius steps out of the car to avert his eyes, but he can’t help but smile too. He’ll take Moony’s advice. He’s probably right anyway. As if Remus should be surprised, when all Sirius has ever done from the moment they met is follow after him.

“I don’t have any French money…” Harry starts as he exits the old car. “Is there an exchange anywhere near here?”

“Don’t worry about that, Harry.” Sirius says, clapping him on the back. He leans in so that Remus can’t hear. “Consider it an apology for last night. Or a thank you, if you’d rather.”

Harry smiles at that. “You would have done the same for me.” He says, which of course is true, but Sirius shoves a wad of colorful bills in Harry’s hand anyway.

The Lavender Festival is as pleasant as it looked from the car. Harry and Remus have no problem following behind Sirius as he chats animatedly in French, and Sirius finds himself overjoyed to be the life of the party. The neighbors are mostly old people, with a few families scattered throughout, but the thrill of being out and about and extroverted without having to worry about being a scary murderer is overwhelming. More than once, he catches people checking him out. Mostly women, and a few men too, and Sirius is glowing from the attention.

“Je m’appelle Sirius Black, et c’est mon ami Remus Lupin et notre filleul Harry Potter.” He says to anyone who’ll listen. “Nous avons emménagé ici, dans une maison juste à l'extérieur de la ville.”

Many neighbors seem to know the place, and have stories. Sirius was right in guessing that no one had lived there for a long time, but some of the elders have a lot to say about an old man who had settled there many years ago with his daughter. The daughter, turns out, still lives in town with her husband, and works as a therapist. Sirius can’t believe his luck. 

An elderly shopkeep points her out to him, plump and dark-skinned, with micro braids that reach the middle of her back. She’s wearing a yellow sundress and eating what appears to be a lavender cupcake. 

“Bonjour!” Sirius greets her, waving excitedly.

“Hello!” She says back in perfect English.

“Oh thank God.” Harry mutters.

Sirius laughs. “How did you know? My accent isn’t that awful, is it?” She shakes her head.

“Not at all, monsieur. It was your family’s blank looks that clued me in.” She flashes a smile at Remus and Harry, who don’t even have the good sense to look embarrassed about it. “Did this dashing fellow kidnap you? Without a word of French?”

“No, ma’am.” says Harry.

“Yes, ma’am.” says Remus.

The therapist laughs, and sticks out her hand for them each to shake. “Euphrasie Larkin.”

“Enchanté.” Sirius says after they introduce themselves, just to be dramatic. “We just moved into your father’s old house.” Euphrasie’s mouth falls open.

“Papa’s cottage?” She half whispers, full of wonder. “How on Earth did you fix it up? It must have been falling apart.” 

“Magic.” Sirius says with a wink. He catches Remus rolling his eyes.

“Harry, do you want to get a crêpe?” Harry nods, and the two of them are off, leaving Sirius and Euphrasie Larkin to themselves.

“I’d love to bring my husband by and see what you’ve done with the place when it’s ready.” Euphrasie says genuinely. “I haven’t stepped foot in the old house since I was a girl. Too many memories.”

“I know what you mean.” Sirius says. “Speaking of which, I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Oh?”

“My family and I have been through some… hard times recently. Harry’s parents died when he was a baby, and he’s been living with some fucking terrible people. We only just got custody and-- sorry.” Sirius catches himself rambling. “You don’t need the backstory. It’s just, Remus suggested Harry and I seek out therapy, and I was wondering if you had any openings.”

Euphrasie nods, taking a bite of her cupcake. “Remus sounds like a very sensible partner. I don’t typically see families, Monsieur Black, but I could see you both separately, if you’d like.”

“Oh, uh.” Sirius swallows. “That’s what I meant. I’ve got my own stuff, that… I don’t necessarily need Harry to hear. Not that he can’t know. He’s a smart kid, he just--” Euphrasie raises her hand.

“It’s alright, Monsieur Black. I understand.” She smiles up at him and fishes a business card from the front pocket of her dress. 

_Euphrasie Larkin, MA  
Assistante Sociale, Therapeute  
55 Rue Plumet, 04210  
Valensole_

_“Le rire, c’est le soleil; il chasse l’hiver du visage humain.”_

_+033 4 92 74 83 35_

“How about you give me a call or stop by my office after the festival this week and we can set up times for you and Harry?” There is a little sun on the back of the business card that Sirius thinks looks exactly like Euphrasie’s smile. He nods.

“Yes.” He says. “Yes, fantastic. That sounds brilliant.”

“Génial.” Euphrasie says.

They part ways, and Sirius looks around this new town with it’s seemingly endless little happinesses. The cheerful people, the lavender-scented streets, the old dirt roads leading the way home. He feels the setting sun shine on his face and grins wildly up at the clear purple sky. When he comes down, his eyes immediately find Remus, as they so often do, as they have always done. Darling Remus, who is sitting on some stone steps in the shade eating crepes with Harry. 

“Got you a crêpe.” Remus says, offering him a white-paper package. “Wanted to get you a strawberry one, I know how you love strawberries, but Harry talked me out of it. Something about having a proper lunch before dessert.”

“How could you, Harry?”

“We can get dessert later!”

They do get dessert later, and a few more things. Despite the sizable amount of cash Harry was given, he was still gifted more than he could buy: sweets in every variety, touristy shirts and sweatshirts, a cap that says “Lavender Boy'' on it in English that made Sirius roll with laughter, and a little hand-felted lamb filled with lavender. He insisted on buying his own gifts for his friends, though, some bubble bath for Hermione and some curious lavender chocolates for Ron. Sirius gets the same chocolates for Remus, who protests throughout the entire purchase but practically inhales them on the walk back to the car, as well as several wordy-looking books on the topography of the area. Sirius even finds some gifts for himself, hair and skin care products and a very stylish sheer purple top.

By the time they reach the car, their arms are full of bags, their bellies are full of food, and their hearts are full of laughter.

“Sirius.” Harry says, once they’ve finally shoved everything into the car and Remus has set off down the road. “I got you something.”

Sirius turns around in his seat. “Oh Harry, you didn’t have to--” Sirius gasps.

In Harry’s outstretched hand, there is a wand. Only, it’s not a wand. It’s a polished wooden stick with a point on one end and glass beads dangling from the other. Upon closer inspection, Sirius sees that the beads are little glass lavender blooms, strung with shimmering crystals to the end of the wand. 

“For your hair.” Harry says sheepishly.

Sirius takes the wand from Harry’s hand and looks down at it. “It’s lovely.” He says quietly. “This is a very thoughtful gift, Harry. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry says genuinely, and when Sirius looks up again, the boy seems to be glowing. Sirius can’t help but feel the same, after the day they’ve had. “Professor Lupin helped me pick it out.”

“It was Harry’s idea to get you a gift.” Remus says with a smile, eyes on the road. “But he knew I’d have a good idea of what you’d like. It reminded me of when you used to put your hair up with your wand.”

“Oh yeah, back at Hogwarts! The girls used to love when I did that.” He winks at Harry. “You ought to grow your hair out, kiddo.”

“I don’t think so.”

Remus laughs at that, hearty and open. “Oh, Harry, I love you. You sound just like your mother.”

Harry is silent for a moment, and when Sirius turns around to look at him, his eyes are wide and his skin has paled.

“Alright, Harry?” Sirius ventures. Harry shakes his head.

“Yes, yeah, sorry. I’m okay. I just, er. I’ve never heard that before.”

“Oh.” Sirius says. More than ever, he sees himself in Harry. Just a kid who wasn’t treated right. “Well, I hope you get used to it. Moony and I have a lot of love to give, and it’s got your name on it.”

“You don’t even know me, Sirius.” Harry says, not unkindly. “How can you love someone you don’t even know?”

“That’s what’s so fun about it, Harry.” Sirius says sincerely, making sure he’s looking Harry in the eye. “I loved your father because I knew him so well, and I loved your mother because I got to know her, too, but loving you? Loving you is an adventure. Sometimes you’re James and sometimes you’re Lily but mostly you’re Harry, a person all your own, who I have the privilege of getting to know.”

There is a muggle song about revolution on the radio. Harry begins to cry, clutching his lavender lamb, and perhaps because of what Remus said yesterday, he doesn’t try to hide it or stop until they pull into the driveway at The Garden and Remus and Sirius wrap him up in a crushing three-way hug.

***

“Harry’s birthday soon.” Remus says, when he finally wakes up at 3pm after the next full moon. Sirius had gone downstairs to make Harry a nice brunch in the morning and promptly went back to bed upon the kid’s insistence, and now finds himself in Remus’s arms. He’s aching all over, but it’s a good ache, not from scratches and bites but from howling and running. If there’s anything he loves as much as Remus the man, it’s Remus the Wolf, and the ways they run together. 

(Sirius finds he isn’t so hopeless over their situation anymore. It’s still hard not to refer to Remus as his soulmate, and it’s still hard not to tell him how much he loves him every few minutes, but Remus is still here. He’s alive, and so often smiling. He is a body when Harry needs a hug, he is stern when Sirius has a meltdown, and he is quiet when they all crave the silence. Sirius doesn’t need Remus to love him back so loudly, not like he did a month ago, or 15 years ago. The togetherness is enough.)

Sirius has his head rested gingerly on Remus’s chest. There is a scar above his heart that he didn’t see the first morning after, in the shack. It’s not new, but he had been so caught up in the adrenaline of winning, the nirvana of seeing Remus again, and the sheer ferality of himself that he hadn’t noticed. He traces a finger over it. It’s in the shape of a little cross, and Sirius thinks it’s rather fetching. Like a tattoo that says x marks the spot.

“Think it was trying to break in.” Remus explains, his voice soft. “After… After you left, the Wolf was angry. Wanted to know where it's pack went.”

“Oh, Moony.” 

“S’Okay.” Remus says, bringing his hand up to rest on Sirius’s. “You’re here now.”

“I am.” Sirius says, losing himself in the truth of it. It dawns on him for the first time since their escape that Remus, too, has been through a war. He’s done an excellent job of hiding it lately, taking care of Sirius and Grimmauld Place and The Garden and himself, but it’s true. Perhaps not a decade and change in Azkaban, but all alone, just like Sirius. When he was in prison, Sirius would often be wrought with thoughts of Remus, on his own and betrayed and hating him. Azkaban feels so far away now, and also right here in bed with them. 

“Never leave me.” Remus says so quietly that Sirius wonders if he’s meant to hear it. “Please, God, never leave me.”

“Wouldn’t.” Sirius whispers, wrecked. “Couldn’t.”

They lay like that for some time, Remus rocking Sirius in his arms and clinging to him like a rock in an unrelenting black ocean. They don’t say it, they don’t kiss, but the truth hangs above them and fills in the air around them. The room, with its old stone walls and colorful rugs, the bookshelves surrounding them, the cracks between Remus and Sirius, where they don’t quite touch. All filled with heavy, silent love. 

Outside it begins to rain.

***

The planning of Harry’s birthday party is left to Remus. He had owled Molly Weasley a few days before the moon and she had been happy to take Harry for the week, as well as host the party a few days later, because they can’t rightly have it at The Garden, which no one knows about, or Grimmauld Place, which Sirius still hasn’t stepped foot in. Harry, of course, has no idea there will be a party, and is presumably just enjoying his time at The Burrow.

Sirius has bought Harry a mountain of gifts (funny muggle things like pens and paper and bottled pop, his very own wizard’s chess set from a shop in Diagon Alley, all sorts of books at Remus’s request, including his coursebooks for fall, and about a lifetime supply of Zonko’s pranks) but it’s been Remus handling the actual party planning. In a way, it’s as much of a surprise for Sirius as it is for Harry. After all, Sirius has his first appointment with Euphrasie Larkin the morning before the party, and Remus had wanted to give him the space to prepare for it.

The rain is still going when he apparates into the alley beside the building, and the desire to get his hair out of it is enough to drive away his nerves and rush him in.

The office is as bright and cheery as the woman herself, despite the rain. The walls are painted a sweet pale pink, but the floor-to-ceiling windows, which look out onto the stone walls and tin roofs of downtown Valensole, take up most of the wall space. There is a painting of The Garden before it was The Garden, back when it was Euphrasie’s childhood home, sitting behind her desk. In the painting, a young Euphrasie stands outside the house with a man, presumably her father, feeding chickens. This snapshot of life is not unlike Sirius’s own family, and he smiles at it.

“Tell me whatever you feel comfortable sharing, Monsieur Black.” Euphrasie insists. “This is your time.”

So Sirius tells her about Azkaban, or what he can tell her. The loneliness, the dark, the cold. She doesn’t seem to be afraid of an ex-convict, on the contrary, her face goes dark in anger.

“Nobody deserves to be locked up like an animal, Monsieur Black.” Euphrasie says with feeling. “No matter what a person has done, the lack of human dignity afforded to incarcerated people is wrong. Not to mention how many cases exist like yours, that affect people who look like us much, much worse.”

Sirius tells her about growing up. He tells her about Harry. He tells her about James, and Lily. He tells her the story of a murderer, two groups of friends separated by time, and a rat. In this story, edited for muggle audiences, there is no infinitely huge and unimaginably powerful Dark Lord. Voldemort is just a man. Perhaps he always has been.

Finally, Sirius tells her about Remus. Without a single lie, he tells her the love story that begins when he’s eleven and unlearning cruelty, twists and curls through pining at fourteen and finally kissing for the first time under the Quidditch pitch at sixteen and moving in right out of school, shuttering and tripping over wartime secrets and fear when they’re twenty and standing in place unwaveringly for thirteen years alone. He tells her how the story has continued over the past three months together, how it fumbles and shakes in the beginning of summer, blooms into something new and different and challenging, and ends right here in this room, when he’s 34 and unlearning cruelty again.

He spends half the story in and out of tears, but when it’s finally out of his system, he feels raw and empty. Like finally the weight of it has left his shoulders, and he can get back to just being a person.

“It sounds like you’ve had a very difficult life, Monsieur Black.” Euphrasie says, after scribbling in her notepad. “This must have all been very hard.”

“It’s--” Sirius starts, but after all that talking, finds himself at a loss for words. “I suppose it was. Is.”

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.” Euphrasie smiles. 

“That’s fine.” Sirius says, looking at his jeans. “You’d have a go of it trying to get me to shut up.” Euphrasie shakes her head.

“I don’t want you to shut up, Monsieur Black.” She says reasonably.

“Because that’s your job, yeah.”

“Because you have a lot of important and interesting things to say. And because I enjoy listening to you.” Euphrasie leans forward, elbows on her knees. “And, judging from what you’ve told me, Harry and Remus do too.”

“They don’t.” Sirius says petulantly. 

“I think that’s for them to decide, don’t you? Surely you don’t pick your family’s feelings for them.” Sirius balls up his fists on his lap.

“Remus won’t even say that he loves me!” He cries. “I know he does now, I can tell, but he won’t say it! How am I supposed to know everything’s okay or I’m doing an okay job or--” Sirius feels the now-familiar sting of choking on his own breath. “-- I’m worth anything, after it all, if I don’t have Remus to tell me so?!”

Euphrasie is quiet for a moment, and Sirius looks up to find her offering him a box of tissues. He takes them with a mumbled, wet “Merci.”

“I think.” Euphrasie says slowly, holding his eye contact while she has it. “That you cannot measure your worth as a human being by how much Remus loves you.”

Sirius sucks in a breath.

“B-but…” He mumbles, without really thinking. 

“Would Remus be any less good if you didn’t love him? Or would Harry?”

“Of course not, but I’m--”

“You aren’t different, Sirius. The only things that separate you from your family are the terrible, terrible things that happened to you.” Euphrasie holds up her notepad, looking very smug indeed. “And judging from what I have here, the space between you isn’t all that large.”

Sirius is ugly-crying now, eyeliner cascading down his face and onto the tissues. “But if I can’t-- How am I supposed to--”

“That’s the kicker, Sirius.” Euphrasie says, smiling. “You don’t have to measure your worth at all.”

***

When Sirius returns home, Remus is tending to the garden on his hands and knees. He’s wearing a ridiculous red and orange coverall and a big floppy sun hat and humming a muggle song they’d heard on the old car radio. The sun is high in the sky, as it’s nearly lunchtime, and Sirius is overwhelmed with love.

“You were right!” He shouts from the driveway as a greeting. Remus pulls his head out of the tall lavender and rose bushes and beams at him.

“I often am.” He says, but his bright smile falters when he sees Sirius’s eyeliner. “Oh, Pads, your makeup.”

“It’s okay.” 

“Good first session, then?” Remus stands up, wiping soil on his coveralls. His sunhat flops to one side. 

“Lots of blubbering, yeah.” Sirius says. He catches up to Remus and grasps his hands, grinning up at him. 

“You look happy.” Remus notes, because he knows him inside out, squeezing his hands back. “Besides the eyeshadow.”

“Asshole.” Sirius says affectionately. He can’t stop smiling.

“Want to clean up and head to the Weasley’s?” Remus asks, and Sirius, as always, follows him.

The Burrow is already spilling with people by the time they arrive, arm in arm and each carrying a precarious pile of gifts. Red and gold Gryffindor streamers are hung all around the outside of the house, twinkling and sparkling in the afternoon light. Firecrackers in matching colors zip around them with the sounds of laughter and chatter. Chairs and tables litter the lawn, and Sirius recognizes some children from Harry’s classes, but he’s surprised to see a few old familiar faces of his own. Kingsley Shacklebolt shares a bench with Alice and Frank’s kid, who looks terrified. His cousin Andromeda and her teenage daughter entertain a delighted crowd of Weasley children. Folks Harry would never know, old order members and classmates from Hogwarts and distant relatives.

“What--”

“Sirius!” Harry calls, grabbing his attention from where he’s seated at a table with Ron and Hermione and Rubeus Hagrid, donning his Lavender Boy cap (which is still hilarious). Twenty or so heads pause their conversation and turn to look at him, and the fireworks do the same, a brief moment of silence. Then, with a flick of someone’s wand, they shoot up into the sky and erupt in a fabulous show, spelling out “WELCOME HOME PADFOOT.” The crowd cheers.

“Moony.” He manages, his grip on Remus’s arm tightening.

“Yes?”

“What’s all this?”

“Harry’s idea.” Remus replies, the picture of mischief. “Said he knew we were planning him a party, over crêpes at the Lavender Festival, but he was sure you’d appreciate the attention more than he would.” 

“Merlin.” Sirius whispers. 

“A very Lily Evans thing to do, wouldn’t you say?”

“No.” Sirius says, shaking his head. He finally lets Remus go, as an onslaught of partygoers approaches. “It’s entirely Harry.”

As he greets his guests, Sirius is glad that he had taken the time to clean himself up before they arrived. He’s donning his new hair stick, his hair held up in an effortless looking updo that had actually taken quite a bit of effort, thank you very much, and sprinkled with glitter. He’s redone his eye makeup, taking great care to match with the sheer purple top he had found at the lavender festival. His boots are dragonskin and pointed, like the ones he had in his youth, and his jewelry sparkles under the light of the fireworks and the afternoon sun.

One by one, the partygoers say hello to him, each holding a congratulations or an apology. Molly Weasley, ushering him across the lawn for some cake, tells him he looks quite dashing indeed, not at all like his mugshot, and goodness, Sirius you must tell me what’s in your hair. Her husband, as he’s cutting the cake, claps him on the back and asks him all sorts of questions about the muggle jeans he’s wearing, and Harry tells me you’ve got a car, I’d love to come round Grimmauld Place and have a look at it, you wouldn’t mind, would you? A couple of identical Weasley teenagers approach Remus and Sirius both with dramatic bows of gratitude and wail “Oh, Lupin, you could have _told_ us!” which neither of them understand. Kingsley Shacklebolt assures him there will be a position with the aurors in his future if he wants it, and Sirius very politely doesn’t call him a fucking cozzer pig. All in all, Sirius is swept up in being the life of the party, laughing and nodding along and shaking hands.

There is a moment when Sirius breaks away from the crowd, after Remus introduces him to Andromeda’s teenage daughter, who apparently prefers Tonks and seems like a real trip, and who seems to be the only person at the party who knows why Lavender Boy is funny, when he finally gets to give Harry a hug.

“I don’t know what to say.” Sirius says, squeezing him so hard that he can hear his back crack. “Except thank you thank you thank you, and happy birthday.”

Harry laughs, hearty and open, just like his father. “You would have done the same for me.” He says, for the second time in two weeks. Sirius lets go of him.

“Right, sorry.” He says, smiling sheepishly. “I should have guessed you wouldn’t want a party. You’re not the type of kid to like the center of the attention.”

“It’s okay!” Harry says, gripping Sirius by the arms. “I’m really touched by the thought, honestly. I’ve never had a birthday party before. And I did love the gifts.”

He looks so happy that Sirius can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it, the two of them here together, in the hallway at the Burrow, surrounded by the sounds of joy. The kind of joy that he couldn’t have even imagined a year ago, or even a few months ago. Harry joins in, and then they’re laughing together, Harry Potter and Sirius Black. They don’t stop until a familiar voice pulls them out of it.

“Sorry to ruin the fun, gentlemen,” says Severus Snape, of all fucking people. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get by.”

“You invited Snape?” Sirius asks Harry, ignoring the ball of human excrement standing in front of him.

“No way.” Harry says, doing the same. “Must have been Professor Lupin.”

“If you must know,” Snape interrupts, clearly annoyed at being ignored. “I came here to give your husband his monthly potions. Now if you’ll excuse me!”

Snape brushes past them, leaving Sirius with a nagging thought. 

Oh, hell.

“Wait, Sn-- Severus! Hold on.” Snape stops in his tracks, but doesn’t turn around.

“What is it, Black?”

“I never got to thank you.” Sirius says without a hint of irony. “For that night in the shack. You said we’re even, but you did an incredible thing for... for my family and I. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Snape says nothing.

“So, thank you.”

Snape is quiet for another moment.

“Will that be all?” 

“Yeah, mate. That’ll be all.” Snape huffs and strides down the hallway, but Sirius feels a little lighter. He sighs.

“Bloody hell.” says a young voice that is definitely not Harry’s, and Sirius turns around to find Harry, Ron and Hermione all gaping at him.

“What?” Sirius says.

“You just--”

“He--”

“You just don’t seem the type to apologize to someone like Professor Snape, Sirius.” Hermione says. “Especially considering your history with him, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Hermione!”

“No, she’s right, Ron.” Sirius says, smiling. “I’m not. I just figure, I spent too long being angry. I don’t have the energy to be mad at someone like Severus Snape anymore.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “It’s strange, he’s really the worst isn’t he? I just don’t want to care anymore. About him, or any other homophobic, pureblood-favoring, racist dipshit thinks.” Sirius laughs, remembering he’s talking to a bunch of kids. “Dammit, language. Moony’ll have my ass.”

“It’s not stupid, Sirius.” Hermione says plainly. “We know what you mean.”

“Maybe we should have invited Malfoy.” Harry says. Ron whacks him on the arm.

“Yeah right, and have him call Sirius a--”

“It’s not stupid.” Hermione says, glaring at the boys. “And I don’t think Professor Lupin would have anything to say to you today, Sirius, seeing as he’s been looking at you all afternoon like you’re God’s own cousin.”

“Has he really?” Sirius asks dreamily, then shakes his head and looks between the three of them. “So that’s fine then? Can’t keep anything from the three of you, eh?”

“It’s not exactly a secret.” Harry says knowingly. “And before you ask, no I don’t mind.”

“Thought as much.” Sirius says, but he’s grinning. “Your mum and dad didn’t either. Well, James did, a little, but I think he was just annoyed that I wouldn’t shut up about it.”

Harry laughs, and Sirius laughs with him, and the party goes on.

***

It goes like this:

The sun is going down by the time he catches up with Remus. He’s pleasantly buzzed on sherry and beetle berry whiskey and has just requested Molly Weasley play the new muggle records that Tonks has shown him (“The ones by that lesbian with the long locs, Molly surely you know the one--”) when he decides that Remus should be here with him. Sirius skims the lawn and finds him chatting with Hagrid, pale ale in hand, away from the rest of the party. He looks lovely, tall and handsome, his face lit up by the party lights in all the right places. Sirius gravitates toward him, the shape of Remus’s absence beside him cutting him open like a pair of scissors.

“Hullo, Padfoot.” Remus says, amused. “Enjoying your party?”

“Come dance with me, Moonshine.” Sirius says stupidly. Hagrid rather politely excuses himself, and Remus laughs, high and cheery.

“Alright, then.” Remus relents. “But first, let me show you something.”

He takes Sirius by the hand and pulls him away from the party, through the Weasley’s garden and around the back of the house. Sirius laughs along, stumbling just a little bit, but happy, nonetheless, to be alone with Remus.

“Where are you taking me, Moonshine?” He says, light as a feather. 

“Got you something, didn’t I?”

Behind the Burrow there is a meadow, covered in little white clover flowers and neatly trimmed grass. Around the sides, where the hedges meet, are small piles of junk: discarded muggle contraptions, butterbeer bottles from parties of old, gardening tools, but right, smack dab in the middle, is a white sheet covering something motorbike-shaped.

“Moony.” Sirius breathes, staring at it. “Remus, no.”

Remus has the audacity to smile at him. “Go on then.”

Sirius creeps toward it and lifts the veil with shaking hands. Sure enough, underneath is a shiny black motorcycle, sparkling in the light of the moon. Not just any motorcycle. It’s _his_ motorcycle, the one he used to ride during the war. He’d know that seat anywhere. Sirius runs his hands over it, memories of him and Moony holding tight, zipping down the motorway, Moony’s chin resting on his shoulder, washing over him. Memories he’d thought he’d lost in Azkaban. He chokes on his heavy breath.

“Moony… how on Earth--”

“Hagrid had it. Apparently, he’d had it for approximately 13 or 14 years.” Sirius bleary-eyed, looks up at him, and Remus is grinning with such ferocity that Sirius feels his knees go weak.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts. “I know you said we ought to wait, and I do agree, I understand, but if I don’t kiss you right now, I think I’ll--”

Sirius doesn’t get to tell Remus what he’ll do, because Remus (perfect, wonderful, Remus) is finally, finally kissing him, soft and sweet, lips hardly parted. It’s the sort of kiss a child would have, incredibly innocent, and that’s lovely, surely, but it won’t do, it won’t do at all. Sirius gets on his tiptoes, pressing up to meet him, and takes his beautiful rough face in his hands. He parts his lips like it’s second nature, warm and inviting, and Remus laughs against them, but meets him there, as he always has done.

Remus’s tongue is quick and easy and pushes past his lips with a practiced familiarity that no amount of time apart could change. He tastes exactly the same as he did when they were young and stupid, with all the time of the world, and maybe, in this moment, they still are.

Remus’s hands find their way to his hips and he grasps them, his remarkable strength put to excellent purpose, in Sirius’s opinion. Not that Sirius has opinions, or any thoughts at all, really, except for Moony Moony Moony. Remus guides him backwards until he’s leaning against the motorbike, and he feels like a giddy teenager, arms grasping the back neck of Remus’s jumper like a lifeline. Remus pulls back just a little, to Sirius’s incredible disappointment, and breathes against his mouth.

“I love you so fucking much.” He mumbles, and Sirius does not feel like he’s floating away.In fact, he's never felt so grounded.

“I love you too.” He says back, and he briefly registers that he’s been crying before bursting out laughing. “I love you! Fuck, Remus, I love you!”

He’s not entirely sure what he’s laughing at, but Remus seems to be in on the joke, because in a moment he’s laughing too. He kisses Sirius’s cheeks and brow and crown and laughs at him, with him, to him. Sirius pulls him down for another deep kiss, their teeth clacking as they smile against each other, and wraps his leg around Remus’s ankle. Remus seems to lose himself a little to it, because the grip on Sirius’s hips becomes too tight for polite company. Though, perhaps Sirius is a bit gone, too, because he can’t bring himself to care too much. Somewhere a million miles away, the song changes.

“Wait, hold on.” Sirius pulls back again, his ears perked up. Remus groans. “This is the song we were listening to in the car, remember, with Harry?”

“I suppose it is.” Remus leans back down to kiss him, but Sirius pushes him off.

“No, get off me,” He says excitedly. “We need to go dance to this.”

“Sirius--”

“You can have me when we get home, you old dog, come dance with me!” Sirius grips Remus’s hands. “Don’t you know… um na na a revolution… something a whisper!” He sings, tugging Remus backwards toward the party. Remus shakes his head.

“I cannot believe this. I plan a big dramatic, romantic gesture, the kind he’s always loved, and he’d rather dance to a song he doesn’t even know the words to.” 

As they return to the front lawn, the crowd welcomes them back, sweeping the two of them into a makeshift dance floor. Sirius laughs, bumping his hips against Moony’s.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives for romantic gestures, Moonshine, my dear.” He says truthfully, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Remus’s neck. Remus grins, pulling him close.

“Lots of forevers, if I recall.” Around them, the laughter and the shouts of their friends and family add flavor to the music, talking about a revolution indeed. Harry’s carefree laughter fills his mind from the other side of the lawn. And Remus, perfect, beautiful Remus’s heartbeat seems to rise above the music, just for Sirius.

“Lots of forevers, yeah.” Sirius says. It didn’t make sense that night in the shack and it doesn’t make sense now, but that’s fine, he thinks. They have plenty of forevers left to figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> \- this fic heavily referenced other fix it fics. especially this one [where they're in france](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362872/chapters/58754449) and this one [with the excellent muggle interactions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852754/chapters/52153876)  
> \- this is the house that the garden is based on [this one](https://www.french-property.com/sale-property/879-1258)  
> \- the french is "My dear, your French is terrible. And don't use "vous" with me. I've seen you naked." and "My name is Sirius Black, and this is my friend Remus Lupin, and out godson Harry Potter. We moved in here, to a house just outside of town." and a Les Mis quote "Laughter is the sun; it drives winter away from the human face."  
> \- the lavender hair stick is [here](https://www.pelindabalavender.com/Lavender-Hair-Stick-p/158c.htm)  
> \- the song is tracy chapmans talkin about a revolution obviously  
> \- prisons are bad and azkaban is especially bad  
> \- Sirius and the entire Black family are people of color and if you don't like that you can eat my ass. so is harry fuck you  
> \- also i hate jk rowling both of these fruits are nonbinary if ur gonna be transphobic dont waste ur time ill delete it xoxo
> 
> come find me on twitter @JEHANCOURF :)


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